


our hips say it best

by Matriaya



Category: All Elite Wrestling
Genre: M/M, Magical Realism, chuck is a witch, love potions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27192001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matriaya/pseuds/Matriaya
Summary: Chuck walks in and sees two things. The first is Trent, sitting on the couch with a towel pressed to his forearm, blood seeping through the white cloth. The second is the door to Orange’s bedroom nearly rattling off its hinges.
Relationships: Orange Cassidy/Chuck Taylor
Comments: 16
Kudos: 38
Collections: AEW Halloween Week 2020





	our hips say it best

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the AEW Halloween Week 2020 challenge.

There’s something wrong. Chuck can tell before he even opens the door to their apartment, feels it like spiders crawling across his skin, there’s a charge in the air. 

He walks in and sees two things. The first is Trent, sitting on the couch with a towel pressed to his forearm, blood seeping through the white cloth. The second is the door to Orange’s bedroom nearly rattling off its hinges.

“What the fuck, man?” Chuck asks as he shuts the door behind him. Whatever magickal fuckery is happening, it’s happening behind Orange’s door. Hot spikes of it are shooting out of the wood, and though they only have the very faintest trace of a golden hue, Chuck can feel them deep in his bones.

“It’s Orange,” Trent sounds breathless. “He’s… I don’t know, drank something? He’d gone fucking wild, man. Tried to tear my clothes off.”

The cloth shifts to reveal a set of nail marks, red and puffy against Trent’s tanned skin. 

“Tried to hump me too. Just like… right up against the door.” Trent is grumbly about this. 

Shit. Chuck’s brain is going a mile a minute. Did he leave out a potion? Was Orange actually dumb enough to go into his room and steal a potion? He’d crafted some aphrodisiac spells for a friend a while back, and had a little extra, but it wouldn’t have had that potent an effect on anyone unless…

Fuck.

“Fuck.”

He says that one out loud.

“Did Orange have anything to drink today?” 

Unless it’s mixed with alcohol. Chuck gives everyone he sells it to a very strict no-drinking rule, because, especially in women and smaller men, the effects of the potion can be overwhelming if mixed with booze.

“I don’t know man, I don’t really pay close attention to what Orange does all the time.” Trent grunts, gives Chuck a pointed glare, and okay, fine maybe Chuck’s crush on Orange is obvious to someone like Trent who he spends most of his waking hours around. But he’d been pretty good about hiding it from Orange up until this point. Maybe. Hopefully.

Chuck takes a few steps closer to the door. There’s a little paper ward sealing it shut. Quick thinking on Trent’s part, because wood and flimsy locks would be no match for Orange’s strength and the driving urge of the spell. 

He yanks the ward off in one go, feels the magic of the spell wobble for a moment, and then dissipate, and he’s pushing into Orange’s bedroom.

And  _ holy shit _ , it’s a fucking disaster.

_ Orange _ is a fucking disaster.

“Chuck.”

The way his name is dragged out of Orange, as if over gravel, is delicious in a way Chuck had never hoped to hear.

“Hey buddy,” Chuck holds out his arms, palms facing Orange, in a steadying gesture. “Do you know what’s happening to you right now?” 

Orange’s hands are nearly raw from where he’s been beating down the door, and he’s got this wild look in his eyes that Chuck has only seen in nature documentaries, the kind big cats get when they’re about to murder a defenseless beast. 

“Uh huh,” Orange’s voice is lower than Chuck’s ever heard it. Jesus. 

He’d been wearing his usual blue jeans, white shirt, but he has fucking holes in his clothes now, probably from snagging on the absolute wreck of furniture, clothes, and objects strewn around his room. There was a small patch of blood staining one knee. He’d cut it open somehow, kicking the door maybe? Didn’t matter. Chuck needed to fix him,  _ immediately.  _

“Is Trent…” Orange starts, looks down. His hands are shaking, fingers curled up into fists like he has to actively keep himself from touching Chuck. “Is he okay? I think I…”

The sentence trails off to die an awkward death. From the other room, Trent shouts, “I’m fine, man! Not the first time I’ve been humped by a buddy!” 

He’s going for jovial, but Chuck can see shame lap at Orange’s features for a moment, before the lust settles back into place.

“I’m going to shut the door, okay?” 

He needs to make sure Orange isn’t gonna bolt. Orange nods, shuts his eyes. 

“I thought it was a downer, man.” The way Orange says it,  _ fuck, _ it’s guilt and emotion, and so raw, not at all appropriate for what he’d done. “I didn’t mean to… I mean I’d had a beer, and I was just gonna…”

Chuck takes another slow step forward. A plastic figurine of Orange as a catboy that Chuck had custom ordered for him for Christmas last year crunches under his shoes. Fuck. Doesn’t matter now. All that matters is Orange.

“It’s okay, Orange,” Chuck smiles at him. “Honestly man, mix-ups happen. It’s just the alcohol reacting with the potion. It’s bad luck but it happens.”

Another step. The mattress is still on Orange’s bed, but all the sheets have been yanked off, and are carpeting the floor. He treads on them, decides it doesn’t matter. They can launder it. 

Chuck gets another foot closer, when Orange lets out a low groan, presses his palm against his dick, not moving it, just to release a little pressure. It’s gotta be fucking killing him. The wet stain at the front of his jeans tells Chuck he’s come already, probably more than once, but that kind of a potion is specifically designed to be consumed by multiple people. Getting himself off won’t help.

“Chuck, don’t…” Orange tries again, and he sounds even more shredded, holy fuck. “I don’t know if I can…”

“I know, dude,” Chuck is moving around the bed slow and steady, like Orange is a cat he tries not to spook. “You can’t hurt me. Don’t worry.” 

Orange  _ wants _ him. Wants him so fucking bad he can taste it in his molars. Wants to hurl himself at Chuck the way he did at Trent, to pin him to the wall and rub up against him hard and fast, to suck bruises into his flesh and fucking  _ claim _ him. 

With Trent, it had been weird. Orange likes Trent. He’s a good dude. Kind of weird, incredibly chill, but like, he’s never actively wanted to fuck Trent before so experiencing a desire to throw himself at Trent had been a little unsettling, but had absolutely nothing on what he’d felt when Chuck walked into the room.

Because Orange has always wanted Chuck. Not, like deep in his bones, or whatever, but he’s been attracted to Chuck from the word go. Chuck’s his best friend, he would literally murder for him, and has no problem with that knowledge. Now though, all of that amped up, it’s killing him. Maybe literally. Orange has no idea how these fucking spells work, and knew it was a dumbass idea to raid Chuck’s potion stash for downers, but he was grumpy, and didn’t want to deal with the world, and knew Chuck would be a little late off his shift, so whatever. He raided. 

He hurts everywhere. Like yeah, his dick fucking hurts, because he’s spent a good twenty minutes jacking off, and then jacking off again when his boner wouldn’t go away, before he accosted Trent. (Fuck, he owed Trent like 14 beers now. ) His hands hurt from where he’d attempted to break down the door. He’d trashed his fucking room, definitely cut himself on the sharp edge of his desk, when he’d thrown it hard against the wall and it had splintered. Maybe the worst of it is the itching under his skin. Orange is, as a rule, laid back as fuck. Just, like, part of his personality. Doesn’t get worked up about much, takes everything pretty evenly. But right now? With the potion and alcohol dancing a fucking conga line through his veins? He wants to explode. Wants to crawl out of his skin. Wants to rip himself up open and lay himself bare in front of Chuck in a manner that is very un-bro-like. 

He can feel the heat radiating off Chuck as he steps closer, stands next to him. There has to be an antidote, right? Something to make his heart stop racing and his mind calm down? God, he wants to kiss Chuck. Wants to tuck himself right up against his broad chest, press his nose against the sensitive underside of his chin, lick across the skin there. Wants to bite down, find out what kind of noises Chuck makes. 

The thing is, he could hurt Chuck. He wants to push him down and fuck into him until he can’t see straight. And yeah, Chuck is stronger than him, has the size advantage too, has proved that in the ring many times, but today Orange has magic on his side, and he doesn’t trust himself not to crack like this. 

“Can you fix it?” he asks. He’s hyper-aware of the way Chuck’s tank top is riding low on his chest, at the smooth expanse of skin that Orange desperately wants to lick. He’s distracting on the best of days, but right now,  _ fuck.  _

“Yeah, but uh…” Chuck actually looks bashful for a second which is an emotion Orange has never seen him wear. “It’s gonna be weird.”

Orange makes this small, impatient noise in the back of his throat, and gestures at himself as if to say  _ this is already weird. _

“I have to get you off.”

Orange makes another whimper, and it’s really hot in a way Chuck should not be excited about but is. 

“I know man,” Chuck continues in a rush. “It reacts to a partner’s touch. That’s it’s specific purpose. It’s why you uh…” 

He gestures to the wet spot on Orange’s jeans where cum is most definitely plastered. “I could brew an antidote but to be effective, it will take at least 48 hours, and I figure you probably don’t want to wait that long.” 

Maybe it’s the catalyst that finally sends Orange over the edge. Maybe it’s just been building for a while. Doesn’t fucking matter. Orange reaches out a hand, twists it around the loose collar of Chuck’s tank top and yanks, overbalancing him, and as soon as Chuck is close enough, smashes their mouths together. It’s a rush of teeth and tongue, not even remotely sexy or suave, but Orange moans, loud against him, to finally have that contact.

Chuck is embarrassingly turned on by this, even though objectively it’s an awful kiss. In all those late night jerkoff sessions in which he pictured their first kiss, it was usually, like, softer than this. More romantic maybe even though that was dumb or like, sweeter. 

He yanks Orange away, shoves him down hard onto the bed, and immediately pins him there, his arms and legs making sure Orange’s can’t move from the mattress. 

_ “Orange.” _

Orange thrashes to get away but he’s stuck, and the grip Chuck has on him is bordering on painful which feels fucking amazing. Chuck’s tone brooks no argument though.

“Sorry,” Orange says, even as he leans up towards Chuck’s mouth again, trying to kiss him, fuck, why won’t Chuck just let him  _ kiss him? _

Chuck drops his hips down to grind them against Orange’s just once, and hooooly shit, the whole god damn universe opens up and fucking  _ sings _ . 

But beyond the nearly orgasmic rush of pleasure is a feeling of  _ relief _ that he’s been craving. He doesn’t come, but the tiny frantic screaming voice in his head quiets down just a little. Just a little. God he wants Chuck to do that again and again, but he can breathe more now, feels slightly less like he will Alien-chest-burst. 

He opens his mouth to, he doesn’t know, apologize? Beg? But Chuck smiles down at him.

“I know, dude,” he says. “It’s okay. We’re gonna get you through this. But we got to make a game plan.” 

It’s an unbelievably beautiful sight, Chuck’s smile, and the bits of Orange that aren’t currently screaming  _ fuck me!! _ as loud as possible really loves that he earned one of those. 

“Probably one orgasm should do the trick as long as I give it to you, but you gotta tell me how. And we’ll need to do skin to skin for it to be really effective, so an over the pants handie won’t work as well.” 

Orange is dying to know how many over the pants handies Chuck has given in his life. How many he’s received. If he would just shift a little Orange would be more than happy to… 

Orange takes a deep breath, clings to that little bit of sanity that the friction provided. 

“Don’t care,” Oranges huffs out. The desperation in his voice is syrupy. “Just, fuck,  _ please.”  _

Chuck very tentatively releases one of Orange’s wrists, and the instant it’s free, Orange grips the back of Chuck’s neck, and hauls him down into a kiss again. This one is at least more coordinated, less clacking teeth, more lips slotted together as Orange licks out against Chuck’s bottom lip, and fuck, Chuck fucking  _ groans.  _ Like he wants it. Like he’s desperate for it, and Orange wonders for a half second if maybe the potion leeched from his mouth into Chuck’s, if maybe he’s making this whole situation worse, and then Chuck is kissing him back, the best feeling in the whole goddamn world. Orange lets his fingers tangle in the floppy strands of Chuck’s hair, curl up. It might be the spell, beating out a rapid chorus of  _ yes yes yes yes yes _ every time Orange’s heart thumps in his chest. He doesn’t care. Just needs more of this. 

Chuck gives him a few more seconds before grabbing his wrist and pinning it down again. When Orange looks up at him this time, he knows Orange sees the lust reflected there. Knows he’s not being as closed up as he should be. 

“Orange. This time when he says Orange’s name, it’s nearly sandpaper on his tongue. “I need to…”

Fuck, he can’t even think. Why did it have to be Orange who took the fucking potion? Why couldn't it be Trent? Chuck could have jacked Trent no problem, and moved on from the whole thing with zero qualms about anything. With Orange, he wants to drown. Let himself go into the wet heat of Orange’s mouth, just get lost there. 

He’s breathing too hard, wearing too much of his emotion on his face, and he hates that he’s so fucking soft for Orange, that it’s spilling out and over now into this space he’s supposed to keep neutral so that he can help Orange. 

“Sorry,” Orange says, “sorry, sorry, I know, I just…” and then quieter, “fuck.” 

Even now, the thrum under his skin is building back up again. His body  _ knows _ that the key to salvation is close at hand and that with just a few little movements, he could have Chuck fully on top of him, grind their hips together, make them both come.

“Hey,” Chuck says. His thumb strokes the inside of Orange’s wrist, slow. “Magic is tricky. We’re gonna fix it, and then we’ll laugh about it later. It’s gonna be okay.” 

Orange nods. His gaze keeps dropping to Chuck’s lips, and then back up to his eyes, over and over, and Chuck knows he can’t help himself, that he is being  _ magically driven _ to be horny right now, but it’s distracting, and a little bit beautiful. Whatever. Fuck. Chuck needs to fix this.

“I’m gonna jack you off, okay?”

The way Chuck says it in that calm, rational, friendly voice that makes Orange want to disintegrate, like it’s not going to be the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him, jesus fuck.

“I’m gonna let go of your wrist, but I need you to keep your hand still.”

Orange nods. Doesn’t quite trust himself to speak. If he opens his mouth, he’ll beg. 

Slower this time, Chuck releases his wrist, and even though Orange’s brain screams  _ grab him _ so fucking loud it’s a ringing in his ears, he keeps in place. 

He manages to undo the button and zipper on Orange’s jeans one-handed, and slides his hand down into his truly disgusting boxers, but Chuck could honestly care less because Orange is so warm and hard beneath his hand it’s dizzying. Orange lets out a pornographic moan, head tipped back.

“ _ Oh fuck.”  _ Way louder than he should have, Trent can definitely hear it in the other room. 

His dick is already sticky with cum. Chuck doesn’t have a ton of room with the jeans. Shit.

“Can you keep your other hand down too, while I…?” he starts. Orange nods, eyes fucking on fire now, and when Chuck releases his dick, Orange’s hips chases his hand. Orange’s fingers are digging into the palms of his hands so hard the skin around his nails is turning white, but he manages to keep them still. Chuck yanks down his pants and boxers in one go, rucking them down as far as just above his knees, and then immediately gets a hand on Orange’s dick again.

He’s up on his knees, jacking Orange as fast as he can. Orange lets out this filthy groan, and then his name, and god damnit, Chuck’s not even going to pretend he’s not hard in his pants right now. 

“Chuck, fuck, please Chuck I need,” Orange is panting his name, “please kiss me, please please  _ pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease _ -” 

Orange has been so,  _ so _ good, keeping his hands in place, but Chuck is only human, and every part of him actively wants to kiss Orange, always wants to kiss Orange, so he lets himself fall forward, forearm by Orange’s head, and presses their mouths together. 

“You’re so hot, jesus,” he can’t help murmuring against Orange’s mouth, and Orange brings up both hands to cradle the back of Chuck’s head. 

“That’s so fucking good,” Orange moans, “so fucking good baby holy shit.” His hips are pistoning up into Chuck’s hand. Chuck pulls away just a little, and chases the line of the bright flush down Orange’s neck, across his collar bones. 

It’s just so  _ not  _ what he should be doing. Should be keeping this strictly buddies. Strictly  _ hey let me jerk you off to get this spell over with and then that’s it _ but he has Orange fucking Cassidy warm and begging underneath him. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, looking up into Orange’s eyes, and Orange nods, drags his head back up to kiss him again. Kissing Orange is beyond perfect. His new favorite addiction. Even if he gets hit by a beer truck tomorrow, he can die a happy man with Orange’s taste lingering on his lips. 

“Fuck yes,” Orange says. He sounds more like himself than he had since Chuck first came in. Sounds lighter. He won’t be completely back to normal until he orgasms, but the skin on skin contact helps, and Chuck… god, Chuck doesn’t want to stop. Would, if Orange needed it, but he’s drunk on Orange already. 

“I’m… _ shit, _ ” Orange’s voice is tight, now, as he whispers against Chuck’s mouth, ragged and so very hot. Chuck can tell he’s close from the uneven thrusting of Orange’s hips, the way his fingers tighten painfully in Chuck’s hair, all of it lights Orange up like a goddamn beacon, and then he’s coming harder than he’s ever come in his whole fucking life, striping Chuck’s hand and his shirt and maybe the ceiling in cum, his whole body arching up into Chuck’s.

Chuck strokes him through it, still kissing him, but gently now, trying to bring him down, calm him a little. The shift in the air is palpable. The extra edge, the frenzy that the magic had added to the room was gone. In a few short seconds, Orange would probably get embarrassed as fuck and Chuck would have to be completely chill about the fact that he can feel Orange’s cum like a goddamn brand against his skin, but for now, he just kisses him, and waits.

Orange goes limp, like someone cut his strings, and he lays there for a long moment, his mouth still moving against Chuck’s but barely, sipping little kisses from his lips as an afterthought. Chuck moves his hand off Orange’s dick but keeps his hand against his hip, stroking the skin there gently, thumb swiping back and forth. 

“You okay?” Chuck says after a minute. He hopes to fuck Orange doesn’t tell him to get the fuck out.

Orange smiles, those stunning blue eyes fluttering open.

“Fucking perfect, man.” Orange says, gives Chuck that rare full smile that always makes his belly flip. 

Chucks grins tentatively down, and Orange doesn’t miss the way his gaze lingers on Orange’s mouth just a beat too long. Doesn’t miss the question behind his smile. 

Orange pushes his cummy, nasty fingers into Chuck’s hair and drags him down for another kiss. 100% magic free this time, but feels just as amazing even though the edge is gone. 

He can feel Chuck rock fucking hard against him. Even his  _ brain _ feels tired, like he’s just been thrown headfirst out of the ring, and he’s blinking up at the ceiling, and nothing is quite steady, and he’s so goddamn tired. But also Chuck’s dick is  _ right there _ , pressing against his leg. 

“I really want to jack you off but I don’t think I can move my arms.” Orange admits, nipping at Chuck’s bottom lip. Chuck tips his head back and just  _ laughs _ , and it’s warm sunshine inside Orange’s brain, god he fucking loves it so much. 

“How about we get you cleaned up and we can deal with it later?” He can’t keep the smile off his face. 

They pick their way through the wreckage of Orange’s room, get a cheeky thumbs up from Trent when they move through the living room towards the bathroom, and then Chuck strips and they both get into the shower - way too small for two grown men, but whatever - and Chuck’s got to half hold him up because Orange is so damn tired from the spell he can barely stand. 

A half an hour’s soak under the warm spray, just fucking  _ holding _ Orange, running soft, soothing fingers over his skin, pressing little kisses to his shoulders, the top of his head, doesn’t exactly kill Chuck’s boner outright, but it becomes less of an urgent issue. 

“This is my room now,” Orange says as Chuck leads him, dead on his feet, into Chuck’s room. The queen bed is unmade, and the sheets haven’t been changed in a few days, but they’re both too drained to care, just collapsing. Orange immediately spoons up against Chuck, unabashedly grabbing his hand and tucking it against his belly. It’s soft, and he wishes he could say something sarcastic to bring back his edge, but he is way too tired, and the warmth of Chuck around him feels too damn good.

“Tomorrow, baby,” he murmurs as Chuck turns off the light. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

Chuck’s laughter is a hot huff against the back of his neck, and they’re both asleep in a blink. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
